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Friday, September 6, 2013

A boy named Josh

My Advanced Snorkeling class had gathered in a gazebo overlooking
the beach at Columbus Landing Park on the paradise island of Grand Turk. It was
the afternoon session on the second of our eight-day course.

We were students of Melon Dash, founder of Miracle Swimming,
which specializes in teaching adults to overcome their fear of deep water. It’s
been 30 years since she devised her swim instruction methodology – unique in
the world. In that time, Melon has brought thousands of men and women from
sheer terror of water to perfect comfort in both pools and the open ocean –
including SCUBA certification.

Our class routine – integral to the Miracle Swimming process
-- was to hold a discussion period of 10 minutes to a half hour or more, during
which we would talk through the plan for the class, voice any concerns or fears
we might have, and set some goals for what we wanted to accomplish in the next
couple of hours. After instruction in the water, we would gather again to process
what we just learned -- experiences, breakthroughs, aha moments … whatever.

Except that this week, we came to know a little boy none of
us will ever forget.

We had decided as a group to swim out to a reef farther from
shore than any of us had ever ventured. It was marked by an orange buoy that I
couldn’t even see from the beach. The return swim would be against the current,
so as much as it sounded like a fun thing to do, we were a bit antsy.

Chris Canaday, our Miracle Swimming instructor for this
class, had just begun to facilitate the opening discussion period.

And then along came Josh.

Josh lives on this capital island of the Caribbean nation of
Turks and Caicos. At 11 years of age, he is a chest-thumping 70 pounds of
uninhibited attitude.

With him was his cousin, Silvano, and a pack of eight feral
dogs – known as Royal Bahamian Potcakes.

Garrulous Josh was obviously the alpha -- of the pack, of
Silvano, and probably of his entire neighborhood.

Josh bounded into the gazebo, shouting a loud, authoritative
command for the Potcakes to remain out. Silvano was allowed in.

The gazebo is public, so there was nothing we could do to
preserve the privacy of our discussion period.

The two boys joined us on the bench that wrapped around the
interior of the gazebo and listened to Chris describe what our trip to the buoy
would entail.

For about 15 seconds.

In his gravely voice -- much louder and deeper than his small
frame would seem to house – Josh commenced to help Chris facilitate.

He warned us of Shirley the Barracuda … of ugly octopuses …
of a schoolmate who had drowned in these waters.

Just what we needed to hear!

Then – dismissing a core Miracle Swimming principle -- Josh
proclaimed: “Why don’t you stop talking
about it and go do it!”

Just what Chris needed to hear!

As will happen with children, familiarity took over and Josh
helped himself to one of my fins and tried it on for size. Then my wife’s fin.
Then he hung on Chris’s arm.

Chris cut the discussion period short, and the boys followed
us into the water. They did dolphin dives around us as we industriously tried
to get into our snorkel gear.

They asked if they could try our snorkel masks, and each of
us said no.

But here’s what happened … and why I am writing about Josh
today.

When we returned from our swim to the reef, Josh and Silvano
were waiting for us in the gazebo. This time they listened attentively as we
spent a few minutes discussing our lesson.

When we finished, Josh took Chris’s hand … took my hand …
Silvano took my other hand … and my wife’s hand … and our group joined hands
because Josh told us to.

With no embarrassment or awkwardness, this little macho man
said we were going to pray now.

And in his deep, gravely voice and his Creole accent, Josh
offered the most articulate prayer that I, for one, have heard in a long time.

He thanked God, whom he called “Father in Heaven,” that we
had been able to swim to “the booby” and return safely. He prayed that we would
come back to Grand Turk so we could all see each other again.

I found out later that each one of our small group had
worried that while we were in the water, Josh and his cousin would surely rummage
through the belongings in our swim bags.

We each admitted feeling guilty of unfairly and wrongly
judging the boys.

The next day, my wife and another student went to the dive
shop and purchased two snorkel sets – expensive ones that neither boy could
hope to afford.